~Forgotten Familiarity~
~792. M30~
~South-Eastern Ultima Segmentum~
~Exodite World Charnac~
~Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent~
Once all things had been considered, their initial estimates for how long it would take to fully ready the forces of Charnac for conquest was one Charnac cycle, or about ten Terran months. That time was required to call the various banners of the clans of Charnac, get them organized, get them back into a practiced war-readiness, and gather sufficient war material for a campaign estimated to last ten years in its earliest stages.
Their fleet had to be retrieved from storage, brought up to ready standards again, and filled with said war material. Their support staff had to be given refreshing courses on how to man said vehicles and what stratagems to use. Their hulls had to be filled with resupplies and spares and all the raw material needed to make more critical repairs.
Their psykers had to find appropriate souls within their World-Spirit to pluck out and transpose within their relatively small legion of Wraiths, Wraithlords, and (to his delight) a single Wraithknight. Then the spirits had to be brought up to date on the current situation, and all of them armed with the appropriate weapons of wraithbone. Then the World-Spirit itself had to be awoken to its fullest extent, to defend the world while they were gone.
Bonesingers (a manner of artificer) themselves had to start their songs to conjure fresh material from the warp, carefully and behind chambers of presence-hiding seals, lest the Fourth find them through their music. That, in addition to the creation of what he now knew as standard level armor and weapons, which the Exodites typically refrained from using or producing.
The dragons of the Exodites, a collection of various large warm-blooded lizard species that the Eldar cultivated specifically for their wildness and power, had to be tamed and trained, then integrated into the training routines of the various banners and made used to the presence of various other dragons.
It took him quite some time to wrap his head around it all. Not because any of it was difficult to understand, but because he had forgotten that war-readiness was not something civilizations did by default. The last time he had to bring entire armies and fleets into war-ready states after they were set aside for peace was… Before the Emperor came to Ultramar. Before arriving on Macragge, and calling him to crusade for humanity's future.
There was never a time after in which armies could be afforded to retire. That was always something that had to be put off, something that had to be reserved for the next decade, something that could never be afforded. There was always another enemy that had to be fought, another rebellion to put down, another problem that required more soldiers and more problems in the future that would require him to recruit more soldiers and get them trained so that a decade later he could have enough to replace attritional losses…
The Exodites had emergency protocols for doing this all quicker (if far less efficiently) but they didn't have a standing army beyond their elite warriors, the Dragon Knights. All other troops they could call upon for immediate military action were rapidly-recruited militia called forth from their various martial civilians, their hunters and herders, their seers and shamans, their workers.
The bulk of their defense was in the fact that their World-Spirit protected their souls from Slaanesh, and allowed them to fight as Eldar used to in their golden years, each one a master of both sword and psychic might. Their Dragon-Knights were the bulk of their immediate military power, and expected to hold the lines long enough for their warmachines in stasis to be quickly brought to bear.
It was… He couldn't dismiss it as immediately foolish. It clearly worked to some extent for their people, many had survived well into the next millennium, but it was certainly bizarre to look at their surveys and estimations of their own abilities, having hard numbers and projected force potential to evaluate.
It made him feel a bizarre sense of nostalgia. A single planet of soldiers, a single fleet of ten ships, a single population to work with, and a kaleidoscopic map of the galaxy and all of the regional powers he could remember and the Exodites of Charnac had records of. There was something he was noticing as a potential problem, however.
"You have no infantry." He observed, looking at the projections of their potential soldiers and what they would be equipped with. The Dragonlord looked up from the table and replied with a question. "Infantry?"
"Foot soldiers, forming a defensive wall that keeps targets in place long enough for your other soldiers to encircle or fire upon." He explained, then tapped at the papers on the left side.
The Dragonlord nodded in understanding. "Such roles are heavy in casualty, Wraiths typically bear the brunt of such duties, the dead cannot die twice."
Guilliman stared at him for a moment, then moved a paper aside to look at how many Wraiths they could be expected to field.
The Wraith-Constructs of the Eldar were a product of their psychic nature and culture. In death, the Eldar soul could be captured, and then brought to their Infinity Circuit, a form of reservoir and generator of psychic power that fueled much of their way of life. From this Infinity Circuit, a soul could be retrieved, interred into an item known as a Soul Stone, and then loaded into a construct made from the psychically-active wraithbone. These constructs required guidance from the living, as they were only in a state of partial awareness on their own, but they were formidable weapons of war nevertheless.
The problem, of course, was the supplies of Soul Stone. They were native to the Eldar homeworlds. Said homeworlds were consumed by the birth of Slaanesh, and now drowning in daemonic forces. Retrieving any more would require strike teams he didn't have, or armies he didn't have.
They had sixteen Soul Stones on Charnac, and were planning on fielding ten Wraithguard (the smallest form of construct, about three meters in height), five Wraithlords (the mid sized construct, about six or seven meters in height), and a single Wraithknight (the largest, standing between thirteen and fourteen meters in height). He did not know why the largest was a 'Wraithknight' and not a 'Wraithlord'. That seemed strange.
He had been planning on recommending they be deployed as break-through units, to shatter particularly well-fortified positions with their armor and firepower. That was what such units were typically used for in the Imperium, in his legions. Dreadnoughts and Imperial Knights to march through rains of firepower while dedicated strike teams or infantry followed in their wake.
Sixteen warriors was not enough for an infantry unit. Moreover, that was one infantry unit. Not the several he had been expecting them to field. He supposed they would start doing so in the future as their capacity to wage their specific types of favored war dwindled, but this was before the full swing of conflicts truly began.
"...Sixteen is not enough to serve as infantry."
The Dragonlord replied with a sharp look on his face. "This is an offensive campaign. All soldiers who die beyond the reach of our World-Spirit will have their souls devoured by the fourth, not returned to our World-Circuit. You ask me to put their immortal souls at stake here."
Ah. That was the difference then. Offensive campaigns for the Exodites were inherently more risky, they didn't have the protections that the Craftworlds or Dark Eldar would have in times to come. He had only fought against them while they were defenders before.
Still…
He grunted in slight frustration. "I will have to fight there then." His preferred position was somewhere he could observe the entire battlefield and clearly communicate orders. Though he supposed this wasn't his army, he was just advising them until the conquest of a few human worlds had been carried out.
The Dragonlord leaned back and frowned. "If you fall, this entire plan is for naught. It relies on you being able to negotiate with your lord-father."
"I will simply not fall then. You do not have enough forces there to serve as an adequate bulwark. You have Calvary, Fire Support, Breakthrough, Psykers, and Scouts plenty, but not an adequate anvil to force the enemy upon." He declared with certainty. It was a necessary role to fill in any appropriate army, one vital for pinning enemies in one place long enough for artillery to rain down on them.
The Dragonlord stared for a moment longer, slowly drinking from a cup of wine, before setting it down and replying. "You will need to be tested."
He raised an imperious eyebrow at the Dragonlord. "Tested?" He spoke in an unimpressed manner.
"For me to feel confident in your ability to survive in such a place. If you fall, everything here is for naught and I'll have betrayed my oath to you. I must be certain you are capable of surviving that burden before I can allow you to risk your life like that."
He almost felt offended by the notion. "I have survived more than five hundred years on the frontlines of tens of thousands of battles. I am certain I am more than capable of judging my abilities." He drawled out in an annoyed manner, letting his anger slip somewhat.
"Indulge me, if you would, slayer of evil. We strive to be as thorough and careful as possible in our warfare. A simple melee against my Stormcloaks is all I ask."
"Did you not receive my memories already?" He grumbled out, less offended than before but still somewhat annoyed.
"Only of the future to come. To broach any other subject in your mind would be a breach of hospitality, and Worldsinger Savan is nobler than that."
Guilliman paused, and stared at the Dragonlord, overcome by just how utterly strange such a thing was coming from an Eldar. The opportunity to glean untold amounts of information, and to not take it, to only look for what was offered even when not being hindered or meaningfully observed.
…He saw no lie in the eyes of the Dragonlord. That was the most strange thing of all.
He gave a sigh of minor defeat, suddenly feeling quite tired. "Very well, I can perform a test if that soothes your nerves, Dragonlord."
"Thank you, Roboute Guilliman. That would indeed be appreciated."
"Still, the issue of infantry will have to be resolved as soon as possible. I will not ask your people to fill that role, so the first recruited humans will have to fill that role. I can handle that part of our war effort."
"Are you certain they will not resent such a lethal posting?"
"Not if I am there. An army cannot fight if a commander does not lead."
"You will have the Wraithguard with you, at minimum. I will not allow anything less."
Guilliman nodded in acceptance, and his cup was filled with another serving of wine by the maiden with the jug in hands. He moved the papers on the table aside to reveal the map of the galaxy once more, and the twenty planets marked with small coins. Eight of those coins were flipped to reveal their other face. Two of the coins were made of bronze instead of silver.
Reaching over, he tapped one coin first.
The coin that marked the planet Nuceria.
Then Olympia, then Nostramo.
"Using the webways, how long would it take to travel to these three planets and then return?"
The Dragonlord looked at the four he tapped on, then raised a hand. An Eldar maid behind him handed him a roll of parchment, which he unfolded on the table over the first map.
On it was a network of arteries, psychic roadways in truth, that formed the network of rapid and consistent transportation that the Eldar used. It was not a complete map, of course, as far as he was aware no Eldar alive had a full map of the labyrinthine dimension, but it was a map of the most common ways known to the Exodites of Charnac.
On the map was a large number of details and numbers written down. Another slip of paper was placed on the table, showing a list of conversions between Terran standard and Eldar standard time.
"Thank you." He spoke, taking up the conversion table and looking between it and the figures on the map.
He paused after converting the first time, staring at the two papers.
He mentally ran the numbers again. Then again. Then again.
"This is accurate? You swear that this is accurate?" He brandished the paper at the Dragonlord, who raised a brow at him. The Dragonlord leaned forwards to read the conversions again, then the map on the table before Guilliman. After a moment, he nodded and leaned back.
"As far as I'm aware, yes."
Guilliman exhaled slowly, and returned his gaze to the map of the webways, suddenly understanding exactly why his Father had entrusted the Crusade to his sons and retreated into Terra. Something he had only learned the reasons for after assuming the mantle of Lord Commander of the Imperium. To gain access to the Webways of the Eldar.
He looked at the map, and the numbers on them.
A round trip to all three planets and back was only a terran year through their known channels. Most of that was traveling through the void once the Webway was exited.
Traveling through the warp might take anywhere from a decade to a century to reach all three planets and return.
"Dragonlord. I must redraft my plans." He simply declared. Asarnil blinked, then tilted his head to look at the stack of papers on the side of the table. The four one-meter high stacks.
"All of them?"
"Yes."
—
He recorded another note on the sheet before him, before moving the now-filled paper to the side and moving to a fresh sheet. He was seated before a new table, this one place on a balcony lower on the World-Tree and overlooking a training field. In the training field, the first batch of recruits were slowly going through the motions of refamiliarizing themselves with the motions of making and breaking camps.
They had just finished some hours of more standard drills, and while they were hardly the most skillful warriors he had ever witnessed, they were probably the most skillful fresh recruits he had ever witnessed. Probably evidence of this not being their actual first recruiting, but rather a period of returning to the habits of war.
He was not currently working on his general plans for the galaxy at large, nor his codex administratum, but a specialty codex planned to be given to the Exodites as soon as he was finished.
It was hardly going to be perfect as a first draft, but he intended on refining it as time progressed and he grew more familiar with fighting alongside Eldar troops. The best way to start was to familiarize himself with their manner of training and equipment procurement first, and then work from there. It was hardly more than a scattering of notes across eleven or so pages, he only had one day of observation thus far, but it was going to be vital moving forwards.
You cannot plan around an asset you don't understand. Once he understood their limits more personally, he could begin to strategize with them. Not having dedicated infantry had been surprising to him, and it was something to avoid in the future.
The warriors currently practicing in the fields before him were snipers of Exodite variants. Clad in leathers and scales, wielding the tall and powerful guns common to the Eldar, and mostly composed of former hunters. He was imagining he would eventually come to the conclusion of 'use them as Imperial snipers', but he had to be sure to be thorough.
The next day he was going to greet the lords of the various clans that the Dragonlord called upon, as part of the general war council to ensure all participants knew their objectives, roles, and rules of engagement. After this, the spar with the Stormcloaks at Asarnil's request, to 'prove' that he was capable of defending himself in melee.
He refrained from rolling his eyes at the thought. He was Roboute Guilliman! He was not about to fall to enemies he had already fought and won against with far less experience than he had now.
Diplomacy with xenos was rather aggravating, and he had barely engaged in it thus far.
After they went to sleep for the night, he would depart, returning to his chambers to continue his work on redrafting his plans for the future. In front of his desk, he had requested that map of the webways to be posted on the wall. Hopefully it would be there when he returned from this.
A jaunty tune began in the camp below, catching his attention. He looked up from his note-taking to squint down at the camp, now with watchfires and practice-rations cooking, and saw some of the Eldar soldiers beginning to make music using utensils as instruments.
Soon enough, the jaunty tune changed key, and they began to sing.
"Oh come all you faithful! We're calling on ev'rybody~!"
"Oh come all you faithful! We're gonna kill some Mon-Keigh~!"
Guilliman raised a brow, before remembering that the term was apparently for a species that wasn't humans. Only later used for humans as an insult.
"Can't you hear them tramping? They're at our gates again~!"
"Can't you hear them champing? Let's let them on in~!"
"Fah-la-lala-le! Come die to our volleys~!"
"Fah-la-lala-le! Come die in our valleys~!"
The jaunty tune shifted, and what he assumed was a chorus began.
"We hate to impose~!"
"But you made our mother cry~!"
"I'm sure you understand~!"
"That now you have to die~!"
"So come, Fah-la-lala-le! Our swords are now bloody~!"
Come, Fah-la-lala-le! We've called on ev'rybody~!"
He took note of the tune, and committed it to memory. He might have to adapt it for his later recruits, he couldn't exactly use Ultramar marching songs and remain subtle for the early parts of this campaign.
He gathered up the notes on the table, aided by the maid (the one with her hair in a bun) that had apparently been assigned to him. They looked as if they were indeed finished for the night. It was time to resume his work on the second drafts of his plans.